The Death of Ancient Greece
by Element Wolf
Summary: "Right then and there, she wasn't afraid for her life in the slightest; she was regretful for the life that she would leave behind." A retelling of the fall of Ancient Greece, Hetalia style.  Sad one-shot involving Greece and his mother, Hellas.


"_Never forget me . . . never forget that I love you."_

**The Death of Ancient Greece**

Round, green eyes snapped open at a sudden noise. A small body jerked up, his back rigid as his ears perked up to the silence that rang in his ears. Hadn't he . . . hadn't he just heard something? A crash? The sound of metal hitting something . . . something hard. Like stone. The young boy blinked and slowly slipped off of his resting place, then padded over to the door of his room. He slowly pulled the door open, and glanced meekly out into the hallway, expecting something bad to be awaiting him.

At first, his suspicions were false. But just as the young boy was about to close the door, he heard shouting, and yanked it fully open. He stepped cautiously into the hallway and glanced around, his gaze landing on the direction that the shouting had come from. There was more silence. It rang in his ears like the ding of a bell. And then . . . there was light. Just around the corner.

Finally, the boy's mother turned the corner, carrying a torch with her. She looked upset, even angry, and that was when the young boy knew that something was terribly wrong. His mother rarely got angry. He had never seen such a furious look on her face.

As she neared the boy, his mother waved frantically for him to get back into his room, glancing over her shoulder as she did so. The boy blinked and tilted his head, then slowly stepped back into his room. Why did she look so . . . worried?

Only a few seconds later, the boy's mother rushed into the room and shut the door gently, being careful not to make any noise. She took a quick glimpse around the room, as if searching for something, and then got to her knees and brought her small son into her arms. She hugged him tightly to her chest for a few long, tense seconds, and then eased her grip on him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Herakles . . . my love," she spoke softly, her voice gentle and stern at the same time. The young boy, Herakles, had never heard her talk this way before, she usually talked one way or the other. But this was different. There was something about her voice that made a chill run down the child's back.

Herakles blinked and stared at his mother. "What is it, Mama?"

"My son . . . my baby . . . my child." Tears seemed to sparkle on the edges of her eyes.

"Mama, what is it?" Herakles asked, his body now filling with worry and fear. "What is wrong?"

"You love me, don't you, Herakles?" The woman, who went by the name of Hellas, asked.

"Of course I do, Mama . . ." the boy replied. Confusion played in his voice, as well as on his face. "Why would you need to ask?"

"Dear . . . I just . . . you will always love me, won't you?" She asked quietly.

Herakles nodded. "Of course."

Hellas smiled, though it seemed to be a sad smile. "And I will always love you. Do not forget that. Do not forget that I love you." She rose slowly, then bent down and brushed Herakles's messy brown bangs away. She planted a gentle, lingering kiss on his forehead, then stood upright again.

Herakles said nothing, and instead allowed his mother to lead him to a corner of his room. She told him to sit down there, behind a plant that had been placed there long ago. He knit his eyebrows and tilted his head as he looked up at her, but nodded slowly and complied.

Hellas yet again bent down to her son's height, lovingly running a hand through his dark hair. Her eyes were glazed over as if she was about to cry, but Herakles knew that was impossible. His mother never cried.

"Herakles . . . you need to stay here until I return," she commanded. The young boy nodded, his eyes widening a bit at the sincerity of her voice. Hellas gazed at him for a minute, then turned her eyes away and bit her lip. She looked back to her child and said, "But . . . if I don't return . . ."

Herakles's eyes widened even more, and a dreadful chill went through his body. "What did you mean if you don't return, Mama!"

Hellas shook her head and placed a finger to his lips. "Shh, baby, shh . . . If I don't return, then you will wait until one of the servants comes to get you, alright? Or . . . do you remember the man that lives nearby? Do you remember Mister Rome?"

Herakles's nodded slowly, not daring to talk.

"You wait until I come to get you, or a servant comes to get you, or until Mister Rome comes to get you . . . alright, my love?" Hellas asked her young son softly, making sure not to be too stern. She didn't want scolding to be the last memory that Herakles might have of her.

The young boy nodded slowly. "Alright, Mama . . ."

"You will wait?" She inquired, just for clarity.

"Yes, Mama, I will wait . . ." Herakles replied quietly, a look that somewhat resembled a pout appearing on his face.

Hellas nodded. "Even if you hear noises, you will wait."

"Hear noises?" Herakles asked, staring at her with his large, green eyes, terrified of what that might imply.

"Herakles." Hellas returned his gaze with a strong one of his own. She was obviously not going to answer his question, and he knew it, so nodded and tucked his head into his chest.

"Alright, Mama . . . not even if I hear noises," Herakles conceded.

Hellas gave him another small, sad smile. She lifted his head up by the chin, and gazed into his deep green eyes, eyes that were exact replicas of her. The dignified Hellas - Ancient Greece - the one who had created the Olympics and fought many great battles, felt like breaking down right then and there. She knew, somewhere, inside, that she was _never_ going to return to the room to fetch her son. She knew that it was impossible. The man she was going to fight was too strong. She had fended him off for many years, but now . . . now he was immensely strong. So powerful that he was going to overcome Hellas, a once great empire. But right then and there, she wasn't afraid for her life in the slightest; she was regretful for the life that she would leave behind. The young son that she would have to leave. He meant more than anything else in the world to her – and she was now going to have to leave him on his own.

The woman pulled her young son into a long, tight hug, not wanting to let him go. But finally . . . she had to. She had to let him go. If she didn't, _he_ would find them eventually, and most likely kill them _both_. Hellas couldn't stand for that. She couldn't let her son die. Never.

"I love you, baby, I love you," Hellas said tenderly, then slowly pulled away from the hug. She almost fell into it again, not wanting to leave her son . . . but she had to. Hellas swiftly walked out of the room and closed the door firmly, then took off down the hallway, toward the sounds of impending battle.

Herakles sat there, for a long time, ever dutiful to his mother. He sat there, even as the noises outside of his room got louder and louder. Even as torchlight occasionally flickered under his bedroom door. Even as people screamed in agony. He sat there, brave and strong, just like his mother.

However, a very, very long time after his mother had left him, she still hadn't come back. Nobody else had, either. Dawn began to creep into the edges of Herakles room, and the sky outside of his bedroom windows were starting to turn light purple. Day was approaching. His mother wouldn't make him wait all day, would she? Not with those horrible noises outside . . . the noises that scared him, brought tears to his eyes. But he didn't cry. He tried to remain strong like his mother, who never cried.

A sudden, sharp, petrifying scream instantly made Herakles jump to his feet. He glanced around his room, eyes growing wide, glistening with tears. His heart pounded hard against his small chest as he made his way to his bedroom door and slowly peeked out. Herakles recognized that scream . . . he had never heard it before, but he knew _who_ it came from. The realization sent a terrible chill through him.

What he found outside was not what he had expected at all. He had expected nothing. And nothing would have been so much better than what he saw.

Blood . . everywhere. People lying on the ground, all with their eyes open. Despite their eyes being closed, they seemed like they were . . . asleep. Their eyes were dull, were staring at nothing. Some of the bodies Herakles recognized, and some of them he did not. Some of them were so badly maimed that he wouldn't have been able to identify them even if he did know them.

Slowly, Herakles slipped out of his room and began to race down the hallway, maneuvering between bodies. His mama's command to him ran through his head, but he just couldn't follow it. If she, his mother, was in danger, he _had_ to do something about it. He couldn't just sit in his room, sobbing, with his mother's scream piercing through his body and heart.

Herakles rushed into the usually enthralling courtyard, though it wasn't breathtaking anymore. The scene that was present in the courtyard was almost exactly like the scene in the corridor, except . . . someone was still left standing. A tall, looming figure was standing up stiffly, seemingly powerful. As Herakles crept closer, he noticed that the man wore a white mask over his eyes. He was dressed in strange clothes, and paused in his pose for a moment to adjust the odd red hat that topped his head.

There was also somebody at the man's feet. A woman, judging by her figure. A lean woman, somewhat muscular for her gender. She had long, thick, curly brown hair, that was now in a messy pile around her head. She turned her head slowly, and her green eyes blazed into Herakles's own. For a moment, they were dim, almost like the eyes of the people in the corridor, but they slowly began to dawn with a light or realization. Herakles's eyes did as well, and he began running toward her.

The tall, intimidating man didn't notice Herakles until he was on his knees at the woman's side, shaking her shoulder. The young boy noticed the pool of blood that had drained out of his mother and accumulated around her, but he didn't waste time thinking about the blood. Only what all of the blood meant. His mother . . . she was . . . but she couldn't be . . . not her, no way . . .

"Mama, Mama!" He cried, tears now spilling down his cheeks. "What is wrong, Mama!"

"Herakles . . . I told you . . . I told you to stay in your room," Hellas managed to choke out, coughing up blood as she did so. "I told you to . . . you didn't listen . . . why didn't you listen?"

"I heard you scream, Mama!" Herakles wailed, now finished with shaking her shoulders. He threw his small body across her chest, seeming to curl up around her body. "I had to come and see if you were alright!"

"You shouldn't . . . you shouldn't have come . . ." Hellas spluttered quietly, her nearly lifeless eyes flicking to the man that stood above her. He smirked coldly, but didn't move. He just stood there, ominously, watching the mother and son, seeming to feel no remorse for either of them whatsoever.

"But I had to see if you were alright!" Herakles protested, lifting himself up to look down into her face.

Hellas couldn't help but smile a small sad and wistful smile. She and her son, they were so alike. In the good ways, and the bad.

"My love . . . you are so much like me," she said softly, speaking the words more for herself to hear out loud. Her gaze yet again flicked to the man above her, whose face was now neutral, then shifted back down to her young son.

"I love you . . . my baby, my son . . . my Herakles." She paused and took a shuddering breath. "I love you so much, more than the world." Hellas closed her eyes and breathed deeply, then shuddered again and coughed.

"Mama . . . Mama . . . _Mama_!" Herakles shouted, his abundant tears making a waterfall down his face.

"Never forget me . . . never forget that I love you," Hellas whispered, her body suddenly relaxing – shutting down.

"Mama, no . . ." Herakles sobbed quietly, his voice catching in his throat halfway through the 'no'. He let out a shuddering cry, his body racking.

"I love you, my baby . . . I love you," Hellas breathed out, her final words coming out as one last affection toward her son. Her body shuddered, then relaxed fully as the last breath escaped from her body.

It took a few moments for Herakles to realize that his mother was gone. When he did realize that she was gone – _forever_ – his little body began to rack terribly with sobs. Profuse tears ran down his cheeks, never seeming to stop.

Normally, in the early hours of daybreak, the grounds of the grand castle that Herakles and his mother lived on were filled with the chirping of birds. Dew was bountiful on the grass. The air was crisp and often foggy. However, today, the birds weren't chirping. There was no dew on the grass. The fog hung low, near the ground, which was blanketed ion the blood of fallen warriors.

The beautiful morning that normally was wasn't coming on that day. And it wouldn't be coming. It was as if the world knew that Hellas, that Ancient Greece, had finally, for once and for all, fallen. Which it probably did.

The menacing man in the strange clothes and mask swiftly bent down and lifted Herakles up from his mother's dead body. When the young boy became aware of what was happening, he tried to struggle, but he was no match for the strong, tall man who had picked him up. The man held Herakles close to his chest as he fled the courtyard, and the palace grounds, the young boy struggling to get out of the man's grasp the entire time. After a while, Herakles gave up in his struggles and simply fell limp. He howled and cried out for his mother. He shouted for someone to help him, but no one did. Herakles was alone now, with no one to help him . . . no one to save him from this ominous man. He would have to be strong. And brave. Just like his mother.

He would have to be just like his mother to survive.

**Hellas is what Ancient Greeks called their home. So, it is fitting that Hellas would be Ancient Greek's name, and no, that was not my idea, I got it from someone else. XP**

**Anywayyy. This was my first Hetalia fanfiction, so I hope you all liked it! :)**

**By the way, I'm up for taking suggestions to any other one-shots that I could write. I would preferably like to stay away from any romance at this stage in my Hetalia fanfiction writing, since I am still new to the fandom (by the way, tell me if I got anything . . . wrong O_O). I would love to take suggestions of past events in any country's history, preferably from a time when they might have been young – as in a kid or a teenager. That would be really nice, since I enjoyed writing this one-shot. :)**

**Please review (I would _love_ some constructive criticism) and leave suggestions! :)**


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